on the one guy who was about as enthusiastic about my esoteric skills as I’d once been.
The paws were wavering, my fingers starting to show through as fur faded. It wasn’t me undoing the magic; in fact, given how hard I was focusing on the horrible fact that I was turning into a dog, it was a miracle the magic was letting loose at all. But I was outside the dancers’ sphere of influence, away from the power of their dance and reverting back to normal. There was no pain or discomfort, just a gradual slip back to normality, though when my fingers had returned, I still had the distinct, uncomfortable feeling that it would only take a moment’s concentration to bring the paws back.
My skin didn’t tingle with the dancers’ energy anymore, but the core of magic inside me felt replenished. Or, if not replenished, at least a whole lot more willing to play ball than it had been since that morning. It felt like my reserves had been topped up and were bursting the dam, ready for use and impatient for me to do so.
Morrison’s shoulders dropped about four inches when my ordinary hands peeked out from his jacket. He closed his eyes for a full five seconds, breathing carefully through his nostrils, then looked at me again. “What the hell was that?”
I laughed, a high trill of unhappy sound, and pulled the jacket up around my head to hide in it. It smelled good, like Morrison. Just a hint of old-fashioned cologne, nothing trendy or high-priced. I breathed it in for a few moments, trying to regain my equilibrium and trying not to think about Morrison or his cologne being aspects which could allow me to regain it. After what seemed like forever, but probably wasn’t, I whispered, “Coyote’s been telling me all along that shapeshifting was something I could do in the real world.”
“Sha…” Something about the way Morrison said half a syllable tidily filled in everything that might have followed it. It went something like this: “Shapeshifting? Are you insane, Walker? People don’t shapeshift!” followed hard by except she was just shifting shape in front of me, and I’m not stupid enough to disbelieve that after everything I’ve seen her do the last year, all of which I heard clearly enough that I actually said, “You’re not stupid at all,” in response, and made myself meet his gaze.
For a man who’d just hauled his date out of the theater because she was changing form, he looked remarkably calm. Slightly amused, even, though he said, “Thanks,” with perfect solemnity. “What happened in there?”
“Couldn’t you feel it? The energy they were putting out?”
He shook his head, though his mouth said, “Sure, performers do that. I’ve never seen anybody…”
“Get hairy?” I volunteered weakly. His lips twitched and a tremulous smile of my own shook some of my nerves loose. “It was more than just a performance, boss. They were channeling real power. They were…making magic.” I’d never thought about where the magic came from, not clearly, but I’d experienced similar rushes of power on much smaller scales. My drum could fill me up that way, but never until I overflowed so strongly that it started manifesting in physical changes. The dancers had created something new and strong that hadn’t been there before, something powerful enough to affect me. “You really didn’t feel anything? Nothing like…like your skin was going to come flying apart? You must have. Everybody did. The way the audience came to its feet…”
“I saw a hell of a performance, Walker. The kind that makes you want to cheer, sure, but something bigger happened to you, or we’d all be running around howling by now.”
I blinked at him, then laughed. “You’d make a pretty werewolf, boss. With your silver hair and blue eyes? The girl wolves would be, I don’t know, whatever girl wolves do. Panting after you.” Morrison snorted, and I didn’t want to tell him “panting after you” was a damned sight better than suggesting they’d be sniffing around his hindquarters, which had been the first thing that came to mind.
Somehow, though, his pragmatism made me feel better. I got to my feet and he straightened out of his crouch, looking like he wasn’t sure if he should offer support again. “I’m okay. Boss, somebody in there, the choreographer, one of the dancers, maybe a bunch of them, but somebody in there is like me. That dance, the last one, the shapeshifter’s dance… that had intent in it. I don’t know if it was just the storytelling or if they’ve got something else going on in there, but they were working so much power with so much discipline that it affected me. I’ve got to talk to them.” I’d started walking back to the theater without noticing. Morrison caught up and touched my arm, slowing me enough to notice his expression of concern.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Not even slightly.” I wrapped my arms around myself, hugging Morrison’s jacket to me, and stopped where I was, still a good distance from the theater. I watched it, not my boss, while I spoke. “But I can’t stand not knowing what happened, or how or why, and at least when I go back in there I’ll be a little more prepared. And if I go right now, without thinking about any of this too hard, I don’t have to admit that I’m completely horrified and embarrassed that I lost control of my stupid magic and started changing into a dog in front of you.”
Morrison, unexpectedly, said, “Coyotes aren’t dogs,” and I laughed out loud. He said, “What? They’re not!” and I laughed again.
“I know, but Coyote says that all the time. I never expected to hear you say it. I’ll have to tell him you said it.” Coyote was my mentor, another shaman whom I’d thought for years was actually a spirit, because I saw him most often as a golden-eyed coyote. I never tired of referring to him as a dog, mostly because it annoyed him so much. He was also potentially a whole lot more than just a mentor, and it occurred to me he might not like Morrison treading on his I’m-not-a-dog territory.
A frown appeared between Morrison’s eyebrows, making me think maybe he didn’t like being compared to Coyote in any way, either. I wondered if men made everybody’s lives complicated or if I was just unusually incompetent in that field. All he said, though, was, “Just tell me if we need to get out of there, all right, Walker?”
I nodded. “I will, but you might be more likely to notice than I am. I didn’t feel myself changing.”
“I’ll keep an eye on you.” Morrison headed toward the theater, only turning back when he realized I wasn’t following. “Walker?”
“Why aren’t you freaking out?” God, of all the graceful questions I could’ve asked. I put a palm to my forehead, searching for a better way to phrase it, but Morrison chuckled.
“I’ve run out of freak, Walker. When it comes to you and Holliday, there’s no barometer. Every time I think I’ve seen or heard the strangest thing you could possibly come up with, you trump it. Besides, if somebody else in there had noticed what was happening, you’d have been in a world of trouble. I don’t care how weird you get. You’re one of my officers. I’m not going to let you down, not if I can help it.”
In other words, if anybody under his command had suddenly started turning into a coyote, he’d have hustled them out of public view and worried about the details later.
I wasn’t getting preferential treatment. That sort of made me feel better, but only sort of.
Mostly what it did was remind me what a decent person my boss was. He’d gone out of his way for me more than once, even when we were barely on speaking terms. I shouldn’t be surprised that he could handle a little something like me shapeshifting, but I was. I fumbled around for a way to express that, and finally settled on a wholly inadequate, “Thank you.”
Morrison crooked a smile. “Come
